Revelations in a hotel bathroom, Rebecca's dancing in the rain. Chatter over leaky faucets. One mirror, two bodies
Talk fast into the bottle. Come in, and let your blonde hair down. Tell me about a lifeless body, some promise in numbers
Driving 80 through a country road mall. I wasn't smoking because you hate the smell of cigarettes. Turned the drunk bus into new trust with me. We were dancing in the basement of this bar. We made our mark for freedom. Then I taught you indie dance moves. Then we lost track of time counting stars in our eyes and we both realized we were inspirational
We were walking down end streets like the salt on your teeth from that foreign sea. Gorged with promise. Smoke-filled champion
It's Saturday shouldn't you be up at the bar, cautiously dancing to your favorite David Bowie song. The future, the loser, and me
If I had my way then we would climb up on this car, pa** you a note that says come with me to Brooklyn. The future, the loser, and me
Considering that I cannot think of a word that intertwines gold and democracy I will end my week on notes of good exposure
Maybe I'll sink, maybe I'll swim. I'll bet I spend the majority of them floating
Will you feel the same when my hair gets longer? And will you feel the same when your eyes see sober?